


this is the way the world ends

by orphan_account



Series: just another half-told story [2]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Canon, Drabble, F/M, Implied Sexual Content, Pillow Talk, Prose Poem
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-28
Updated: 2016-02-28
Packaged: 2018-05-23 18:15:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6125658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bellamy eats Clarke out and she tells him about the end of the world.</p><p>As they do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	this is the way the world ends

**Author's Note:**

> Part of a series of canon verse bellarke drabbles I'm planning on writing.
> 
> Title from that The Hollow Men from T S Eliot

Bellamy’s head is between her thighs when she says it. There are moans slipping from between her lips and the air in the tent is thick with moonlight and hurried promises, but she says it.

 

“I’ve been thinking of the end of the world.”

 

He doesn’t still at her words and two of his finger are still inside her when she comes, quiet, heaving. Red all over. He kisses the flush that starts at her chest and he ends up laughing into her neck when she swears at him. _She’s trying to be serious here, for fuck’s sake, Bellamy._ But he laughs like the rain and she can’t fault herself for moving closer into him in the end.

 

“Oh,” he says. “And what will I look like when it comes?”

 

She makes a show of thinking about it, eyes shut, humming a little. He trails his fingers over the side of her stomach and she doesn’t have to look to know that he’s forming constellations with the goose bumps he leaves in his wake. Andromeda, she thinks.

 

 And she tells him.

 

It’s going to be Bellamy and Clarke at the end of the world. He sighs an obviously into the crown of her head and she hides a laugh in his chest. She tells him that his bones won’t creak as much when he moves because he won’t move as much in the end. He’s going to try to carry the world on his shoulders. She won’t let him. The world will end with her pushing the earth of his shoulders when he doesn’t let her help (of course it would; because he’s a stubborn asshole and she’s a lot worse). It’s going to be them lying on the ground, covered in ash and blood and he will look a million mostly won wars and fucking finallys. In the end, they’re both going to bleed starlight and it will mix with the ash and blood and make something close to pretty (A lot closer to revolting, honestly). They won’t notice that everything smells like rust and smoke because they’re breathing in each other and time slows and maybe, it stops. They don’t know. It doesn’t matter. She thinks that he’ll smell like gunpowder.  She’ll probably smell like dirt and bitter herbs. But it’s good enough because the sun is burning up and no one else is there to care.

 

(And they don’t care. If the world ends just then, they won’t care.)

 

And if they’re lucky enough to see the moon when it happens, it will look like a cloak on him and the stars will get caught in his hair; his soul will be bare. And his soul is the most beautiful thing of all. And maybe then he’d be the king he never believed he was. Maybe she’ll be the queen she was always too hollow to be.

 

And when the world ends, it will end with them laughing into the edge of the universe, shouting careless _I love yous_ until they taste blood on the tips of their tongues.

 

He doesn’t ask her why she’s thinking about the end of the world. But she knew he wouldn’t.

 

He settles his palm against her hip and she’s memorized his callouses enough to map them out in her head. His lips nip at the crook of her neck and she vaguely thinks of the colors they’ll be the next day (if the world doesn’t end that is). Blue. Purple. Black. Yellow, is she looked close enough. When she settles against his chest, she already knows the way he curls into her. Like they’re broken in ways that fit. He feels like worlds already ended and a thousand more just beginning.

 

 

 

“You know what I think you’d look like at the end of the world?” The words get lodged somewhere into curls of her hair and she can’t see him, but she knows he looks like six on-going battles and almost theres that won’t leave his throat. She thinks the end of the world is much closer than she could ever imagine. She thinks she’s okay with that.

 

So, she whispers, “What?“ and waits a thousand years.

 

“Like the start of something else.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm idontgiveaneffie on tumblr. Come cry about fictional characters with me.


End file.
